


All Tied Up in Black and Gold

by jomipay



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), BDSM, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Choking, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley in Lingerie, Crowley likes it a little rough sometimes, Face-Fucking, Hair Pulling, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut, Spanking, Sub Crowley, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wall Sex, dom aziraphale, is the configuration for this fic, listen they switch but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 13:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/pseuds/jomipay
Summary: After trying out lingerie for himself, Aziraphale had expressed, very enthusiastically, interest in seeing Crowley in some.“Oh, my dear, I bet you’re simply gorgeous!” Aziraphale’s eyes had brightened he clapped his hands together and wiggled in his chair. Crowley tapped his foot against the settee and smiled at the angel in a sort of confirmation. Aziraphale’s pupils dilated, and his bright blue irises darkened suddenly as he had a thought, “Why I’d—I’d quite like to see that, actually.”The husbands bring one of Crowley's fantasies to life- fting Crowley in lingerie, some rough sex, a bit of role playing, and sweet aftercare.Aftercare inspired by gingerhaole's precious aftercare art!





	All Tied Up in Black and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends, this was super fun to write! Hope you enjoy. This is standalone but can also be a companion piece to Trying something new; pastel blue I think quite suites you in which Aziraphale has some fun in lingerie!

Crowley stares at his collection, debating. He floats two pieces in the air in front of him, sending them forward and backward in alternating patterns to compare the two. The two pieces of lingerie are remarkably similar—both black one pieces, one strappier and one lacier. He decides against both, waving his hand and sending them back to their storage places. He flops heavily down on the edge of his bed to think. His angel likes lace…Crowley ponders for a moment. He waves his hand and a deep red corset and knickers float before him. _Too much red, clashes with the hair._ He sends it back. He goes to his closet, appraises his collection of shoes, thinking maybe he’ll start there instead. He eyes a pair of black velvet thigh highs for a moment and then lets his gaze drift to a glittery gold pair of heels. He grabs the heels because they match his eyes. Aziraphale likes the color of his eyes. He nods to himself, satisfied with this choice, at least. He flings himself dramatically back on the bed, grabbing a pillow to clutch against his stomach. He can’t remember the last time he had this much nervous energy (aside from the apocalypse that wasn’t). He can’t decide what to wear and his nerves are shot. He gives the pillow a squeeze, thinks back to his conversation with Aziraphale earlier this week for inspiration and to calm himself.

* * *

After trying out lingerie for himself, Aziraphale had expressed, very enthusiastically, interest in seeing Crowley in some.

“Oh, my dear, I bet you’re simply gorgeous!” Aziraphale’s eyes had brightened he clapped his hands together and wiggled in his chair. Crowley tapped his foot against the settee and smiled at the angel in a sort of confirmation. Aziraphale’s pupils dilated, and his bright blue irises darkened suddenly as he had a thought, “Why I’d—I’d quite like to see that, actually.”

The angel looked down for a brief moment, a faint rosy pink starting to flush on his round cheeks. When he looked back up, he was biting his lower lip and fixing Crowley with a look that could only be described as coy. Crowley had gulped, marveling at the ridiculous notion that Aziraphale could still fluster him like this. It all still felt so new and shiny; after all, what were months compared to millennia? Perhaps he was taking a very long nap and it was all a dream? But no, he shook himself and prowled to where Aziraphale was sitting in his favorite overstuffed armchair. Crowley had slithered onto his lap, with his legs thrown over one of the arms of the chair, dangling them over the edge at the knee, arm wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders as he nuzzled at his neck.

Crowley gathered his courage and then angled his head and whispered into a platinum curl-framed ear. “In that case, might you indulge me in a fantasy, angel?”

Aziraphale wriggled underneath him, both in excitement and at the pleasant sensation of Crowley’s hot breath against his ear and the sultry tone his voice had taken. Aziraphale trained lust-clouded eyes on the lean, enticing line of Crowley’s neck, undulating slightly as the muscles there worked as Crowley mouthed at the place where the corner of Aziraphale’s jaw met his neck. Aziraphale exhaled shakily.

“And what might this fantasy include?” he had tried to keep his voice even, but it hitched up at the end as Crowley sunk his teeth into his skin.

Crowley halted his assault on the angel’s neck, and gazed at Aziraphale, “well, lots of sex, for a start,” he answered, amber eyes gleaming. 

Aziraphale groaned as Crowley sucked the lobe of his ear in between his teeth. “Well, we can accomplish that, certainly.” Aziraphale said. Crowley snorted.

Crowley paused his activities to actually talk through his fantasy with Aziraphale. He rested his head of crimson hair against the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair as he explained. “I want you to pick me up in a bar.” Crowley worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to act like I’m trying to tempt you, and then you get, erm, upset, with me and decide to uh-- _punish_ me.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale shyly through his lashes. Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow, teasing, “You want to feel a bit of angelic wrath?” Crowley nodded his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, never taking his eyes off Aziraphale’s face.

“A smidge of angelic wrath,” Crowley confirmed, “and a lot of unbridled, animalistic lust.” Aziraphale grinned wickedly at him. “I think I can do that for you, dear.” Crowley had smiled and kissed his cheek before closing his eyes and snuggling into the crook of the angel’s neck.

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley had agreed on tonight to bring his fantasy to life, which is how Crowley had found himself in his present situation. He had a pair of shoes, a head of messy hair (from where he’d been anxiously running his hand through it), and no idea what he was wearing. Oh, and he hadn’t even _started _on make up. Was he going to wear any? He supposed he was, a heavily lined eye perhaps, really bring them out, all cards on the table. Crowley had asked Aziraphale if he’d wanted to pick what Crowley would wear for their encounter. The angel had said he wanted to be surprised. Now Crowley agonizes this decision. Everything would be so much easier if Aziraphale had just picked instead. Crowley stares at the strappy gold shoes and he has an idea. The gold of the shoes would go perfectly with something he’s worn before…._Where is it, do I even have it anymore?_ Crowley bolts upright and pulls all of the contents of his lingerie collection out and sorts through them until he catches a glimpse of shimmering gold and he seizes the garment.

The garment in question is a black one-piece. The top is sheer with a plunging V for a neck, hemmed with golden thread that catches the light just so. The garment becomes a series of criss-crossing straps across the stomach until low across the hips, where it’s soft velvet. The back of the garment is barely there. It’s just a series of straps crossing each other until the hips, where the straps tie on each side, and attached to them is the thin strap of the thong that meets with the plush velvet on the front of the garment. Everything is trimmed with that same golden thread. Crowley had worn it in a lingerie show once (easy work, like killing hundreds of birds with one stone, so many temptations accomplished at once) and he’d loved the way all the eyes on him had felt. All the desire and lust he could feel directed at him. The neediness in the eyes, the way they traced the sway of his hips and long, lithe legs. He shudders at the memory, hoping he’ll inspire similar emotions in a certain angel. At that show, wearing this garment, he’d felt sought after, desired, in the way that he could only dream Aziraphale might have desired him. He’d gone home that night and wanked fervently, imagining that one the hungry faces he’d seen glazed with lust in the crowd was Aziraphale’s.

He miracles the lingerie on, not wanting to bother trying to untangle all the straps to step into it and get it on. He doesn’t really fancy falling flat on his face at this particular moment—not good for the nerves.

He admires himself in a full-length mirror, he shakes his long hair out, admiring the way the ends splay over his collar bones. The gold thread in the lingerie gives his skin a pleasant bronze tint. He turns and admires how the straps dig into his skin slightly at the swell of his arse. His nerves are settling. He’s found it. This is definitely what he’s wearing. He runs one of his hands from his neck down to the point of the deep V and over the straps across the plane of his taut stomach and the velvet starting just below his hip bones. He thinks of Aziraphale and brushes his hand over his half hard cock and arches into the sensation, sighing loudly. He grins at himself in the mirror, deciding to wear his hair in waves and tie it back with a golden length of ribbon in a loose ponytail. He applies black liner to his eyes and a hint of color to his lips.

For the clothes he’s actually wearing to meet Aziraphale, he goes for something decidedly not his style, hoping to catch him slightly off guard. The last thing Crowley does is buckle the straps of his heels across his ankles. He takes a deep and steadying breath and then leaves to meet his angel.

* * *

Aziraphale had chosen a bar in a hotel for their meeting. Crowley walks in to the well decorated and tastefully dim room and saunters to the counter. He’s wearing a cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder and is fitted around the waist and a pair of tight skinny blue jeans. He orders a glass of a red and perches himself on the edge of a barstool, putting himself on display. He sips his wine and surveys the room. The bar isn’t crowded, but it is far from empty. People are littered across the room in booths and leaning on tables. Businessmen on work trips are chatting up women on their way out for a hen night. Crowley loses himself conspicuously listening in on the horrid flirting going on in that direction. The hens are having quite a bit of fun building the men up to eventually turn the tables and let them down. Crowley manages to remain oblivious when Aziraphale slips into the room.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Aziraphale’s breath ghosts over the back of Crowley’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. His hand clenches around his wine glass. Aziraphale has to steady himself a bit; Crowley looks absolutely stunning. The cream of the sweater really sets off his fiery hair, tied away to reveal a freckled shoulder and collarbones molded by the most skilled sculptor there ever was. He sucks in a steadying breath.

Crowley turns to face him, a smile tugging at the corners of his pinker-than-usual lips. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise, angel.” Aziraphale takes a seat beside him and orders a whiskey double. Crowley surveys him from the side of his sunglasses. They seem to have switched aesthetics today. The angel is dressed in a fetching dark blue turtle neck. _Is that cashmere? It looks like cashmere._ He aches to touch the luscious looking fabric fit snuggly across his chest. Maybe he will.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Crowley.” Aziraphale says, taking a drink of his whiskey.

Crowley swirls his wine, arches his neck to expose more of his bare shoulder and the strap of lingerie hidden beneath his sweater, “I’m just getting some light tempting done.” Aziraphale’s eyes run over Crowley’s exposed skin and Crowley can’t stop himself from grinning at this small victory. Aziraphale’s breath catches in his throat. Crowley takes this momentary distraction as an opportunity to hungrily take in the rest of Aziraphale’s appearance. He’s wearing black slacks and a heavy looking black leather belt.

“I didn’t know you had any temptations to do.” Aziraphale drags his eyes away and looks pointedly away from Crowley. Crowley shifts his stool closer to Aziraphale’s, the harsh sound of the legs dragging on the wooden floor startles Aziraphale. “I don’t have temptations, plural,” Crowley pauses to take a sip of wine, “Just one temptation. A bit of a project I’ve been working on.”

Aziraphale eyes him suspiciously, glass halfway to his perfect mouth with its perfect pink lips. Crowley licks his lips thinking about how those lips feel plastered to every inch of his skin. He feels the blood rushing to his cock.

“You’re up to good, then?” Crowley places on of his hands at the edge of Aziraphale’s stool.

“Oh yes, blessing the bride to be, over there,” he gestures behind him and turns slightly to indicate the hens preying on the would be foxes in business suits. Crowley moves his hand to rest heavily on Aziraphale’s thigh, higher than is really appropriate in public. The muscles tense at the unexpected contact and Aziraphale whirls around to face him. “Taking a-a bit of a, ahem, break, afterwards. Staying in the hotel.” He shifts and his eyes grow cold, narrowing them at Crowley’s hand on his thigh.

Crowley allows his lips to slowly form a smile he hopes looks predatory, “Oh, well that’s simply too perfect.” He inches his hand to the sensitive skin on the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh. The angel tightens.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

Crowley stands and moves behind the angel in one fluid motion. He kneads Aziraphale’s thigh and reaches around him to slide a hand down the sinfully soft and smooth fabric covering his broad chest. _Definitely cashmere._ The angel is frozen in place. Crowley brings his mouth to his ear and whispers hotly into it, “I’m tempting you.”

Aziraphale releases the breath he’d been keeping trapped in his lungs. “Wicked, wicked creature.” He breathes. Crowley can feel the fabric of his slacks tighten under his hand as Aziraphale hardens. The angel’s thigh is impossibly warm and inviting.

“Crowley!” he chastises as the demon moves his hand towards the growing hardness. “This is completely inappropriate behavior.” Aziraphale doesn’t move away.

“You mean to tell me you’re not enjoying yourself?” Crowley cups Aziraphale’s erection through his trousers, “Because I know you’re lying.” He breathes the words into Aziraphale’s ear, can feel the shudder that wracks the angel’s body.

“You need to be taught a lesson, you foul serpent.” Aziraphale eyes him cooly. “Reprimanded.”

Crowley presses the evidence of his arousal into his back. “Perhaps you should punish me.” Satan, what that shirt does for Aziraphale’s eyes. The storm brewing in Aziraphale’s eyes belies his level of arousal. “Well,” he begins primly, catching Crowley’s exploring hand tightly in one of his and twirling around on the stool to face him. “Perhaps that’s not a bad idea. I’ll beat it out of you.” Crowley salivates. That tone is Pavlovian to him. Aziraphale continues, trapping both of Crowley’s hands in a vice grip and _squeezing. _“Show you what a terrible idea tempting an angel is. Show you what that sort of insolence _deserves._” His hands tighten impossibly around Crowley’s trapped wrists and his knees weaken and his cock twitches. Aziraphale releases him, produces a room key from his pocket. He yanks Crowley forward by the front of his sweater and tells him, “2107, wait for me.” And then releases him.

Crowley scuttles out of the bar, to the elevator, absolutely giddy with anticipation. Each step he takes causes the rough fabric of his jeans to rub mercilessly over his aching and leaking prick. He pulls his sweater down to cover the bulge from prying eyes. He doubts anyone would have noticed anyways, he’s moving too fast for people to make out details—just a blur of red hair and denim clad legs rushing by. He gets to the room and shoves the door open. He tosses his sunglasses on the nightstand. He strips his outer clothes off, hissing slightly as the cool air of the room hits his flushed skin. He conjures up a silky black robe and decides to arrange himself on the opulent bed to wait. He can feel his pulse in his cock but knows better than to touch before Aziraphale gets there. He’s not sure how long he waits, time has gone a little bit funny around the edges. He starts all the same when the door swings open and Aziraphale steps in.

Aziraphale allows himself to take in the sight of Crowley on the edge of the bed, long legs crossed, black robe draped across them. The bed spread is a creamy off white that contrasts beautifully with Crowley’s hair and the black of the silk robe and the lingerie he can see peaking through the open front. He stalks forward until he’s standing in front of him.

“Safe word, darling?” Aziraphale asks, voice soft.

“Aardvark.” Crowley dutifully replies. Excitement is mounting, everything’s about to begin. His body vibrates.

Aziraphale nods once and then his whole demeanor changes. “Get up.” He orders. Crowley complies. Aziraphale circles him, taking in the strappy lingerie, the plunging neckline, the bulge visible through the plush velvet, the golden and glittering shoes, giving Crowley an extra two inches of height. Aziraphale palms Crowley’s erection, marveling at the feel of the velvet beneath his fingers and the warmth and hardness he can feel through it. Crowley whines. Aziraphale stares at him coldly as he gives him a few more rough strokes with his palm, leaving him gasping with his head thrown back.

“You certainly went to a lot of trouble.” Aziraphale gestures to Crowley, who opens his mouth to respond, only for Aziraphale to shush him with a finger to his lips. “No talking.” He whispers harshly, grabbing Crowley’s jaw in a firm grip and angling it to stare up into his blown pupils.

Aziraphale does another circle before coming to stand in front of Crowley again. He tugs the sash off of the robe and throws it onto the bed. He gives the robe a push at each shoulder and lets the silky fabric slide off to the floor.

“You know, in your haste to get up here, you left me with the bill.” Aziraphale comments, looking severe. He unbuckles his belt and slides it through the loops. The heavy leather sliding through the fabric makes a quiet _wooshing_ noise. “Turn around.” Aziraphale commands. Crowley does and an audible gasp escapes Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale wasn’t prepared to see the demon’s back and arse nearly bare before him.

Crowley looks over his shoulder, “See something you like, angel?” He drawls. _Cheeky bastard_, Aziraphale thinks to himself. “I said no talking.” Aziraphale sighs dramatically. “If you can’t follow the rules then I suppose I’ll have to make you.” Aziraphale removes the gold band tying Crowley’s hair back and then tangles a hand roughly through them, fingers digging into Crowley’s scalp, getting a grip close to the roots. The sensation stings and Aziraphale tugs his head back.

“Open.”

Suddenly there’s a balled up piece of fabric in Aziraphale’s hands being pressed to his lips and Crowley opens his mouth obligingly. Aziraphale shoves the fabric in, effectively gagging him.

He leans in close to Crowley’s ear and whispers, “Okay dear?” 

Crowley nods and gives an affirmative groan around the gag. Aziraphale gives his hair another tug. Crowley’s nerves sing. “If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll just have to keep you quiet until I have a better use for that mouth of yours.” Crowley salivates around the fabric in his mouth thinking about what that ‘better use’ might be.

Aziraphale pushes Crowley forward until his thighs hit the edge of the bed. He takes each wrist in an elegantly manicured hand and wrenches them behind Crowley’s back. He ties them together tightly with a slippery fabric Crowley realizes is the sash from his robe. He forces Crowley to bend over the bed, arse on display.

“Now, it’s really quite rude to leave someone with the bill. And that’s beside your other wicked behaviors. Tempting an angel, really dear? Atrocious.” Aziraphale takes his belt in hand and swings it through the air, letting it land with a dim _thud_ on the bed where Crowley can see it. Aziraphale likes to give Crowley some kind of warning before he starts a beating. Crowley grunts, realizing what’s about to happen.

Aziraphale lowers his voice again, “Since you’re gagged and bound dear, hit me on the shin with your foot the second you want anything to stop, alright?” Crowley nods.

“Right, well if you think you’re ready…” Aziraphale waits for Crowley’s nod and then he brings the belt down to meet the skin on one of Crowley’s arse cheeks with a _smack_. The first hit is light, but the sensation is still startling and Crowley lets out a muffled noise around the gag. Aziraphale does the same to the other cheek. He gives a few more light hits before racketing up the intensity of his strikes. He keeps increasing the intensity until each strike produces a sweet, muffled noise from Crowley and makes the skin on his arse dance. His buttocks have taken on a beautiful, insistent pink from the attention.

Aziraphale brings the belt down with particular brutality. When it lands it produces a loud _smack_ and Crowley’s whole body is moved by the force of it. Crowley makes a desperate sounding moan. An angry red strip of skin appears in its wake.

“Hmmm,” Aziraphale ponders, “Seven of those, each side, should do the trick.” Crowley moans as best he can. His arse stings, but he can’t wait for the next strike to land. Aziraphale brings the belt down with the same force again.

“One,” he counts aloud for Crowley.

The next strike lands just above the last. The one after that however, lands across the first two, and the sting is exquisite, it brings tears to the corners of his eyes. The fabric in his mouth is soaked. He moans loudly around it, the sounds still comes out muffled. He thrusts his hips into the bed with each strike, but the bed is too soft to provide the friction he’s seeking. His cock is aching, pulsing painfully trapped under his weight. Another strike. His cock twitches. His eyes water.

“Four.” He hears Aziraphale count.

The next two produce similar effects. On the final strike, Aziraphale aims right across the worst of the abused flesh on his left cheek. “Seven.” The tears spill over and Crowley sobs, rutting into the mattress as Aziraphale begins on the next side.

Aziraphale bends to whisper in his ear. “You have an out if you need it dear.”

Crowley takes a deep breath through his nose and shakes his head. This side follows the same pattern. Crowley moans with each strike, this cheek beginning to match the angry stinging afflicting the other.

“Eleven.” Crowley can hear the effort in his voice, the strain of striking him taking real effort from the angel. It’s exhilarating, to think the angel is exerting himself beating him.

The last strike is upon him and he braces himself. It lands and he yells. Well, the sound that he had meant to make was a yell, but it doesn’t sound very loud through the saliva-soaked gag. He ruts into the bed, grinding his hips desperately.

“Oh, my dear, how well you take your punishment.” Crowley can hear the smile in his voice and his cock twitches at the praise, heat building low in the center of his belly.

“You did so well, in fact, that I think you rather deserve a reward.” Aziraphale’s breathing calms. He sinks to his knees behind Crowley and pushes his legs apart. He’s doing his best to maintain his ‘how dare you even consider tempting me character’ but right now he really just wants to ravish Crowley.

“These shoes are beautiful, darling.” Aziraphale runs a finger up the back of his leg from the straps of the shoes around his ankles to the crease underneath his ever-reddening arse. He runs his hands gently over the angry, welting skin, massaging. Crowley shudders as the smooth hands soothe his well-abused, smarting skin. The contact ceases.

“As beautiful as you are wretched.” Aziraphale proclaims, and he gives an open-handed smack to Crowley’s tender buttocks. The blow leaves a pale hand-shaped area before flushing red again. Crowley whines and squirms. Aziraphale takes one cheek roughly in each hand and spreads Crowley open moving the thin strip of fabric between his cheeks aside. He blows on the newly exposed, sensitive skin. He squeezes his handfuls and before burying his face in the cleft and tonguing with flat, broad strokes at Crowley’s quivering hole. Crowley shudders and writhes in his hands, pushing his hips back into Aziraphale’s tongue.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, hoping the tone of the action will carry into his voice, “You depraved creature. Of course you’re enjoying this.” Crowley can feel the hot breath on his sensitive, impossibly hot skin as the words are spoken. Aziraphale resumes his previous activities, lapping insistently at the tight, puckered ring of muscle until he can push the tip of his tongue past it and in, tasting the warm and velvety smooth flesh within.

“Mmmphh!” Crowley garbles around his mouthful and clenching and unclenching his bound fists.

Aziraphale stops his assault to nettle him, “You could articulate better dear, but you raise a fair point.”

Aziraphale pulls him standing, harshly by the hair. He tugs his head back so his mouth is even with Crowley’s flushed ear, “If you’re going to make such a revolting display of enjoying yourself, I’d like to hear it.”

“Mmrph.”

Crowley’s whole body is flushed and warm and the skin on his arse feels like its on fire and incomprehensibly tight, like his swollen flesh is trying to escape to confines of his skin. Aziraphale twists the hand tangled in his hair to turn him around to face him and _oh, isn’t that a delightful sensation_. He angles Crowley’s head up, removes the hand from his hair and brings it to his neck, right under his jaw, holding him firmly in place as he removes the gag. A thread of saliva stretches between Crowley’s lips and the drenched fabric. Aziraphale palms over the straining cock under a layer of damp velvet, smirking “So damp, dear.”

He removes his hand. Crowley whines at the loss and it’s louder now than any noise he’s been able to make prior. Aziraphale burries his hand in the red waves again, yanking his head backwards to leave viscous red marks, that will assuredly turn into dark purple bruises, down the front of the demon’s throat. Crowley moans brokenly as Aziraphale turns his attention to sucking a serious of similar marks along one of his delicious collar bones. Crowley grinds against one of Aziraphale’s thighs, cock aching and wanting.

“None of that now,” Aziraphale snaps, he drags him by his hair to the wall. “If you want something to rut against, rut against the wall, like the animal you are.” Crowley goes a bit light headed at having been dragged and shoved rudely into the wall and he does indeed begin to grind his hips against it, finding some relief in being able to grind his poor prick against something substantial at last. He moans again, and Aziraphale, still holding him firmly by the hair, tells him, “You are to sing my praises, and nothing else. If I hear anything else out of that filthy mouth, I’ll bend you back over the bed and whip you until you bleed. Do you understand.” He makes his point by roughly squeezing a sensitive cheek in his hand. The skin on his arse stings sharply at the angel’s warning. Crowley nods in understanding.

“Oh, angel, what a marvelous tongue you have. What a beautiful, gorgeous mouth.”

Aziraphale sinks to his knees and nips at the backs of Crowley’s thighs, moving inward. He then laves attention to the hot and flushed skin on Crowley’s arse before delving back into taste the hidden inner skin of Crowley’s hole again.

“Gaaah,” Crowley pants above him, hips grinding his cock into the wall. Aziraphale knows he doesn’t have long to go now. He pushes his tongue ever deeper, exploring and swirling it along his inner walls, feeling the muscles clenching around him as Crowley chases his release against the wall.

“Feels so—so good, angel.” Crowley can hear Aziraphale _slurping. _The sound is indecent and lewd and _incredible. _Ahh---Ah!. Hnnngrh. Oh, your blessed tongue.”

Aziraphale continues his tongue’s explorations and grabs hold of one of Crowley’s hips, helping to grind him into the wall. “Oh, fuck!” Crowley exclaims as the white hot, crushing feeling of orgasm begins to take hold. He grinds his hips faster and wails his release into the wall, leaving a spot of condensation against it from where he’s been moaning and panting. Crowley slumps against the wall, feeling rather boneless. Aziraphale stands behind him, soothing for a moment by petting his hair before telling him, “Oh my dear, we’re only getting started.”

He nips at Crowley’s ear. “Afterall, I haven’t come yet. You’ve done it before me, how rude.” He admonishes.

Crowley’s breath, which he’s only just beginning to regain control of, catches in his throat. He whimpers as he’s peeled off the wall and Aziraphale directs him to kneel on the carpet in front of him. The marks on Crowley’s neck are beginning to color. They’re turning a lovely purple against pale skin. Crowley’s eyes are swimming with lust and desire, pupils blown wide. Aziraphale has the distinct feeling of intoxication, staring into the liquid amber—the color of a rich whiskey, darkened with lust as they are.

“Let me show you that better use for your mouth I was talking about.”

Crowley swallows, “Are you going to let me worship your cock now, angel?” He says, voice full of gravel. A thrill runs through Aziraphale.

“As if you’re capable of proper worship.” Crowley tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. Azirphale takes his cock out, and presses it to Crowley’s lips. “Let me show you how to worship me.” Aziraphale feels blasphemous and a fresh wave of arousal courses through him as he pushes his throbbing cock into Crowley’s pliant mouth. Aziraphale sighs as he’s enveloped by the slick, soft warmth.

He let’s Crowley bob his head up and down, giving him long, languid strokes on the underside of his shaft with his tongue. Crowley takes more of him in, hollowing his cheeks and sucking before pulling back and swirling his tongue around Aziraphale’s girth. _Lord, that tongue, _Aziraphale thinks to himself. No human could compare—it wouldn’t be fair. Aziraphale feels his cock breech Crowley’s throat and his arousal ratchets up another notch. He takes a fistful of Crowley’s hair in one hand and his jaw in the other and begins to thrust into him, fucking his mouth. Crowley makes the sweetest noises in the back of his throat, which travel through Aziraphale’s cock in pleasant little bursts. Crowley melts into Aziraphale’s strong commanding hands, relishing the blissful pull of his hair and the fullness encased in his throat, the pleasant lightness that accompanies being well-used.

Aziraphale fucks his mouth faster, feeling his climax building, warmth radiating from that tight coil at his core. Something warm and hard is rubbing against his pants and he looks around Crowley’s head to see that Crowley’s grown hard again. This gives him the final tip he needs and his orgasm floods him and he spills, warm and sticky, down the demon’s throat. He basks in it shortly and then he’s tugging Crowley to his feet.

“Strip.” He commands and Crowley clumsily races to comply, pulling the straps from his shoulders and shimming out of the lingerie. His seed is smeared across his stomach and streaked through the thatch of red hair above his bobbing erection. He goes to remove his shoes, but Aziraphale stops him, “Leave those on.”

Aziraphale shoves him back against the same spot on the wall, pinning him with a hand between his shoulderblades. Relinquishing his hold on the hair, he miracles his fingers slick, explaining to Crowley, “I’ve had my appetizer and my main course, but now I think I’d quite like _dessert_.” Crowley whines in response, a long and broken, drawn out thing.

Aziraphale circles his rim, which flutters eagerly at his touch. He teases, pulling whimpers from Crowley’s lips before sliding one thick finger in. Crowley moans, and he circles it to feel the entirety of the soft walls encircling his finger. He begins to thrust it in and out, full and tortuous motions, dragging his finger all the way out and then pushing it lazily back in. Crowley sounds wrecked. His moans are broken and constant, interspersed with a steady stream of garbled nonsense. Aziraphale has a sneaking suspicion that the hand he’s using to keep him pinned to the wall is also doing quite a significant job of keeping him upright. He won’t make him wait too much longer. He adds a second finger and begins to thrust in and out with intent, scissoring him open. He adds a third, noting the increase in volume of the sounds spilling out of Crowley. When he’s slick and open, Aziraphale presses the blunt head of his cock to Crowley’s entrance.

Crowley keens, “Please, angel.”

Aziraphale smirks, winding a hand into tangled hair again. “You were the one that thought to tempt me. Beg.”

“Please, fuck me angel. Give it to me. Give it—I’ll take it, I’ll take it so good, I’ll—I’ll take anything you give me.” Crowley pants and Aziraphale rubs his cock, catching it on the rim of Crowley’s entrance, delighting in not having to be limited by something as paltry as human refractory periods.

“You’re so pretty when you beg. I think I’m almost convinced.” He nudges his cock the faintest bit in.

“Gah! Use me, angel. Fuck me—” He gasps as Aziraphale slides in another inch. “Fuck me hard. Let me show you how well I can take you! Oh, _oh!”_ Aziraphale sheaths himself fully within Crowley. He stays still, letting Crowley adjust.

“You’re not to come until I tell you, is that understood?” Crowley nods, pulling his hair where it’s still fisted in one of the angel’s hands. With that, Aziraphale sets a punishing pace, giving quick, hard thrusts, showing Crowley up the wall with each snap of his hips. He keeps this up until he feels Crowley start to shudder under him and sag. He pauses and hikes one of Crowley’s legs up, slotting his arm under his knee and resuming his grueling pace. Crowley is in his version of Heaven. Tears are running down his face as indecipherable sounds of pleasure escape him.

“Azira—Aziraphale, ‘m gonna, m’gonna—” Aziraphale reaches around Crowley, pulling him off the wall, holding him up by his leg and the hand in his hair. “Oh you poor, pathetic creature. I suppose I could find it within my heart to help you.” He gives the tip of Crowley’s cock a firm pinch. Crowley yelps. “Just a little longer, be good for just a little longer.”

Crowley’s cock is aching and a string somewhere deep inside him is being stretched toward its breaking point. He let’s the angel hold him up, bringing his hips down to meet as many thrusts as he can. Aziraphale’s second climax is building. He untangles his hand in Crowley’s hair and brings it to wrap around the front of his neck.

“Yes, angel, yes, please.” Crowley manages.

Aziraphale reaches with the arm under Crowley’s thigh to wrap that hand around Crowley’s just-this-side-of purple prick, “You may come now, when you’re ready.”

Aziraphale uses the hand wrapped around Crowley’s throat, feeling the pulses of his carotids under his palm and fingers and he squeezes, cutting the blood flow off, choking him.

“Yes, yes, _yes_.” Crowley can feel himself start to float off, Aziraphale pumping his cock. His vision begins to blur around the edges and everything is heightened. He lets himself dance on the edge of consciousness and the force of his orgasm racks his frame. His whole body shudders under Aziraphale and a sob is ripped from his chest as he spills all over the angel’s hand. Aziraphale releases his choke hold and wraps that arm around Crowley, to support him as he thrusts frantically for his own release, which comes a few short seconds later. He groans as he fills Crowley and immediately begins to praise him.

“My darling. My wonderful, beautiful darling.” He presses kisses to each of Crowley’s wet cheeks. He lifts Crowley up and carries him bridal style to lay him down on the bed. “Gorgeous, exquisite creature.” He grabs a glass of ice water from the desk and supports Crowley’s back so he can sit up and drink from it. He gulps it down. Aziraphale grabs a few of Crowley’s favorite dark chocolates from his prepared aftercare kit on the desk and feeds them to him. Once he’s satisfied, he murmurs to him to “Turn over, love.” Crowley flops lazily onto his stomach, eyes heavy and more blissed out than he can ever remember being. He lets his eyes droop as Aziraphale takes an ice cube and rubs it gently onto the blazing skin of his swollen arse. He glides the cube over his skin until it melts and then he plucks another one out of the ice bucket to drag up Crowley’s spine. The cold feels good on his flushed skin.

“You did so well. Marvelous. You were so good, so good for me.” Aziraphale coos to him as he selects a bottle of aloe vera oil and pours some into his hand to work into the blotchy red skin on Crowley’s backside. He’ll have some souvenirs from the evening for a few days, should he choose to keep them (Crowley always chooses to keep them). He gently massages the tight skin and moves to knead deeper into the backs of Crowley’s thighs. Purple marks are smattered across the insides of his thighs. Come streaks the backs of his thighs, leaking from his hole, and Aziraphale wipes it away with a wet cloth. He kisses the purple marks and slides his hands lower to massage Crowley’s calves. He removes Crowley’s shoes and gives the same treatment to his feet. Crowley releases a contented sigh and sinks further into the bed, eyes closed and heavy. Aziraphale massages Crowley’s back and then has him flip over so he can do the front. He presses light kisses to the marks adorning his neck and then caresses the skin and smooths his hands down his chest, rising and falling steadily. He cleans Crowley’s stomach off with a cloth, wet with warm water. He asks him to sit up when he gets to his legs and gets up to fetch him a popsicle from his aftercare kit. Crowley sucks on the popsicle, letting the cool liquid quench the scratching and burning in his throat as Aziraphale works the muscles of his thighs.

Once Crowley’s been thoroughly massaged and rubbed down, he’s wrapped in a fluffy blanket and Aziraphale flicks on the TV with a wave. Golden Girls is miraculously playing on the first channel. He arranges Crowley so he’s nestled between his legs, laying back on Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale sits on a couple of pillows so he can brush out and braid Crowley’s hair. Crowley luxuriates in the gentle tug and pull. He ties the braid off the original gold hair ribbon and kisses the top of his forehead.

“How was it, dear?” Aziraphale asks him, lips still to his hair.

Crowley sighs and stretches his tired muscles, blissful. “Angel, that might have been the best buggering I’ve ever had.” Aziraphale chuckles and hugs him to his chest.

“I’m so glad to hear it. It wasn’t too rough or too gentle?”

Crowley lazily throws his head back and forth, “No, no, ‘s perfect.”

Crowley settles against him and lets his eyes fall closed. Aziraphale takes his half-finished popsicle and disposes of it with a thought. He holds Crowley, a warm solid weight against his chest. He pillows his head on top of the demon’s freshly braided hair, thinking he might read something while Crowley dozes.

He’s shaken from his thoughts by Crowley staring dopily up at him and saying, “I love you angel, so much.”

“I love you too, Crowley. My darling boy.” With that Crowley drifts off, sated and happy in his lover’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thanks so much for reading! Feel free to yell at me in the comments or on tumblr @ halfofmysoulistrees
> 
> This is my second ever smut fic and my second ever husbands fic, and I'm having so much fun writing more of both. Y'all ever have smut just run away with you? I had originally planned like two more sex scenes for this over the course of their night but I liked where it ended here, so maybe there will be another chapter to this. Crowley and the Popsicle is inspired by gingerhaole's precious artwork of Crowley enjoying a Popsicle as part of aftercare. Thank you so much for indulging me :)


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